The Last Acknowledgement of Love

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By the summer of 2014, my mom’s caregiver managed to separate my mom from me, my mom’s sister, and the rest of my mom’s family. It was a mere three months after she and her husband moved in with my parents; into my childhood home.

The isolation happened slowly and gradually. At first, my mom’s jewelry, heirlooms, and possessions, including items my mom promised me, were being sold. Next, I was accused of not understanding my mom’s health condition, even though I clearly understood the first 20 years of it, prior to the caregiver entering the picture. My mom’s cell phone number was changed, so she was unreachable by the number she held for a decade. Then my mom’s cell phone was either monitored or taken away from her. Phone calls went unanswered and not returned. There were many months of eerie silence.

Visits to see my mom were no longer tolerated, as doctors’ appointments, scheduled surgeries, Mother’s Day plans, and other family events were haphazardly shifted around to create confusion and drama. The chaos prevented me from being with my mom at times when I should have been by her side. One day, I got the dreaded lawyer letter that insisted that I stop all in-person, phone, and electronic communication.

It was all so surreal. My parents and I had a wonderful parent-adult child relationship before the caregiver came into our lives.

What was going on? Is my mom well? Is she starving? Who is taking care of her? Is she asking for me? What if I never see her, or my dad, again? All questions I would ask myself on a daily basis.

I tried calling dozens of times. I tried to go to the house as much as possible, given the three hour drive was not around the corner. Doorbells mysteriously stopped working. Outdoor security cameras were installed around the perimeter of the home. Doors were never opened. One of the first times that I went back to the house, I peered through an open window to see that pictures of me, which had adorned the living room for decades, were quickly removed after the caregiver and her husband moved in.

There was so much confusion. Through all of this, I learned that a greedy outsider can isolate family members from each other. It is so prevalent that a common predator practice is called, “Isolate. Medicate. Liquidate.” A vulnerable person is isolated from family and friends by a guardian, medicated to decrease decision making, and loses capacity to prevent the guardian from helping themselves to their possessions, money and assets, or liquidation of the property.

For 20 years of my adult life, I assumed the role of “parenting the parent” — a role that I was quite fond of, given that my mother gave me life and all that she sacrificed. My mom was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis when I was in high school and dementia much later. As these illnesses lead to my mom’s cognitive decline, conversations between us became simpler, yet meaningful. Discussions were similar to an adult talking to a 5 year old child. A routine exchange went something like this:

Mom: I’m having trouble with my blouse.

Me: Here, I’ll help.

Mom: Which arm do I put in first?

Me: Let’s start with this one (tapping her left arm).

After both arms in, mom starts to button her blouse.

Mom (stumbling with the first button): Argh. My fingers aren’t working today.

Me Here (buttoning her blouse together): You look pretty. I like this color on you.

(Mom blushes and giggles, as she smiles at her reflection in the mirror)

(Mom takes out a brush and waves it in the air). My hair is thinning.

Me (Looks at the brush and then down at her head, trying to find evidence of balding spots): I don’t think your hair is thinning. You have a very healthy head of hair. (Tugs at a little tuft). Strong too.

(I start brushing my mom’s hair)

Mom: It’s hot today.

Me: Thank goodness for air condition! We have to keep you cool (Pats my mom’s shoulder).

Mom: (Squeezes my hand and smiles)

Me: Aww, I love you too Mom.

My mom always knew who I was. Mom also knew what she wanted at any given time. But her brain’s neurotransmitters did not always fully cooperate. She could comprehend simplicity in conversations. Yet, her long term memory recall was pretty accurate. She could still carry on conversations, knew how to make and receive phone calls, and knew when someone was at the door.

Because my aunt and I were continually denied access to my mom for over half a year, my uncle and I did some reconnaissance work. We found my mom and my dad in the parking lot of a rehabilitation center as they were exiting the facility…truly, by some miracle.

For five minutes, my parents and I spoke, hugged, laughed, and cried. It reinforced that the denial of communication between us was coming from an external force. I held no grudges, and apparently they did not either.

I promised my mom that we would go back to the spa together very soon. She loved getting services done every few months. The spa treated her like a queen. And I was grateful for the quality mother-daughter time.

As I leaned over my mom to buckle her seat belt in the car, she hugged me. And she whispered in my ear, “I still love you.” I hugged her back and said that I loved her too and hugged her tightly. She did not let me go immediately after. When I stood straight again, she just looked at me and had a large smile from ear to ear. She looked beautiful and radiant.

I closed the door, convinced that I would see and talk to her again. Convinced that I would be able to reconnect her sister with her again. And somehow believing she and I would go to the spa to get our manicures and pedicures done again, albeit several months down the road.

But it was not to be. That was the last time I saw her.

Almost three years later, despite repeatedly trying to get to her, she passed away.

Even though she was receiving in-home hospice care for 3 months, none of the family were notified.

Even though she spent a week in a hospice facility and ultimately passed there, none of the family were notified.

She was originally not afforded a funeral, service, or an obituary. And she was cremated against her original wishes of a burial. The reason, stated via email, was because she greatly feared my uncle and I would harass her at graveside after her death. A reason that I continue to find extremely hard to believe she was capable of vocalizing, let alone rationalizing.

The email that I received also warned that all her contents were already out of the house.

There was no consolation by the caregiver on the loss of my mother. In fact, there was just bitterness towards me that I found out about my mom’s passing. To add insult to injury, there was even a threat that the hospice facility security cameras would be checked for my alleged criminal activity. The “criminal activity” was defined as the illegal measures that I must have taken since the email admitted that no one was notified about my mom’s passing.

My mom was tossed out like yesterday’s newspaper. To this day, this saddens me to no end. She deserved 10000000% better.

While I am so grateful to have that moment in the rehab center’s parking lot to have been able to exchange sentiments with my mom, I would have given anything to say “I love you” again. Just one more time.

I wonder what she thought too, especially after a three year hiatus. Did she think I abandoned her? Was she brainwashed? Was she calling for me? Did she die of a broken heart, even lost the will to live because I could not get to her? There will probably never be any closure. I keep the belief she would have wanted more than anything to hug or squeeze her only child’s hand once more and say, “I love you.” Yet, it breaks my heart that she passed without being afforded the opportunity to say it to me or any other friend or family member. And she had many who loved her. After finding out that she passed without a service, I coordinated one for her in which over 60 people attended. My mom was well loved.

My dad, who is competent, continues to be isolated from the majority of his family and long time friends, and is on track to suffer the same fate as my mom. My mom’s caregiver is his now-wife. They married two months after my mom passed away and one month after the caregiver’s husband passed away. To reiterate, that was 2 significant deaths and a wedding in a 3 month period. That’s not normal, especially after a combined 60 years of marriage between them.

All of my parents’ assets are now in the caregiver’s name, including the power of attorney, trusts, and health directive. I have little doubt that she will manipulate my dad to make him, and other professionals, believe he is on the brink of dementia, depression, or some fatal illness, so that she can take the assets and move on to another victim. It has happened before. The caregiver knows she has done wrong and needs to be accountable for her actions.

I saw my dad from afar in June 2019. He saw me. But I could not get close enough to talk to him. The caregiver posted video footage on Facebook that showed the car I was in, on a public street, in front of my childhood home. The video was captioned with an ominous warning that the authorities, and lawyer, were notified of the recording. There was no credibility to her threat. She has since removed the post.

I want my dad to know how much I love him, in spite of being separated for 5 years. He was the best dad, instilling many of the values that I hold today. I have not given up on him. Even with all that has happened, I still want to see him. Yet, I worry it will not happen.

Unfortunately, my situation is not a unique one. Thousands of elders are being abused by an external person taking control of their lives. Money and greed is separating family members, as unscrupulous people control puppet strings. Between social isolation, financial exploitation, and physical and emotional abusive conditions, seniors are dying alone. These factors also contribute to an expedited, lower life expectancy. Seniors are dying of neglect and broken hearts.

Love your loved ones. Say “I love you” frequently. Do not take for granted that you will have one more day to express your last acknowledgement of love to anyone.

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The Last Acknowledgement of Love